Levasseur’s black eyes were malevolent, but he gave a smirk. “No, Monsieur Captain, it will not be, I solemnly assure you!” He flipped a hand toward him, showing an inch of silvery lace. “It is well that you did not dare open fire, else I would have sunk your fine ship!”
With a cool smile Baret suggested, “Easy, my captain, lest I lose all restraint and beg you to try.” He replaced his hat too carefully.
Morgan glowered, hands on hips. “Cease this verbal sword-play at once, you fancy rapscallions! Baret, what is this all about? Is it not enough you shall have a commission to attack the Spaniards? Are you so impatient that you must threaten sinking a ship of the Brotherhood?”
“He has tested me sorely. He’s blessed I have godly restraint, else he would be swimming by now.”
Levasseur’s brow grew dark with temper. “But what words! He attacks without provocation!”
Erik Farrow stepped forward, the essence of coolness. “I think, Captain Morgan, I am the one to explain, having been at Foxemoore when the abduction of Lady Harwick took place by these French dogs.”
Henry Morgan turned to Levasseur with a scowl. “What is this? You have abducted Karlton’s daughter?”
“Mind your tongue, Monsieur Farrow!” said Rafael. “Thus far we have had no quarrel, but that is not to say it shall remain so.”
“Dare I hope, Rafael?” Erik said.
“Stay out of this, Erik,” Baret warned. “When the moment comes, he is mine to take.”
Morgan strode to the center of his deck, his snapping eyes circling the captains as though he himself might draw cutlass against all three.
“Any more threats and I vow, though I need your ships to skin the Spaniards, I will tear up your legal commissions now and I’ll seize the three of you as pirates!”
The men looked at him, startled, then Levasseur laughed disdainfully. “Pirates!” He turned to his three officers, who smiled. “Monsieur Morgan, I am most repentant!” said Rafael and bowed. “But I did not know the English governor of Jamaica has hired you to arrest the Brotherhood.”
“I’ll carpse ye and dry ye for salted meat on the yardarm if ye don’t watch your tongue,” Morgan growled, stepping toward him with hand on his cutlass.
“Pardieu, my capitaine!”
“Yes—so you had best say,” breathed Morgan.
A moment of silence blew by with a ghostly wind, then Morgan gestured his big head of wavy dark brown hair toward Baret.
“Speak first, Baret. ‘Twas you who would have fired on the Venture. You owe explanation—if not to Rafael, then to me as Modyford’s appointed colonel of this expedition. And you keep silent, Erik. Baret can speak for himself.” He then added with blunt good humor, “Any viscount who can speak French and Castilian can find witty tongue enough to explain himself in English.”
Erik stepped back, with a lift of golden brow, to lean against the bulkhead. He kept an eye on the three French pirates, who watched him with similar mistrust.
Levasseur was staring at Baret angrily.
Baret remained where he was, allowing himself space to maneuver if it came to a duel in spite of Morgan’s intervention.
“An explanation you will have,” he told Morgan. “And when I have finished, I expect action. This fellow buccaneer—this Levasseur, who claims to bear the honor of the king of France—has committed a low crime for which he will heartily pay. On the eve of Lady Harwick’s betrothal to me, he has dared to abduct her. He has her a prisoner aboard his ship. He will either send for her now, or I will fetch her myself, at whatever the cost to his ship and mine.”
Morgan’s blunt gaze swerved to Levasseur. “Is this despicable deed so? You have Miss Harwick on board the Venture?”
“Foxworth lies to protect his vanity. Mademoiselle Emerald Levasseur—my cousin—has reconsidered her rash vow of betrothal and has come with me of her own free will. Because her action has shone scorn upon his honor, he seeks a cause to fight me, a gallante!”
Morgan rubbed his chin and looked curiously at Baret.
“I suggest we call for her and let her speak for herself,” Baret said.
“What need?” protested Levasseur. “She has already written Monsieur Morgan a message.” And he drew out a folded parchment from under his jacket and handed it to Morgan.
“He forced her to write it. Levasseur also holds Sir Karlton a prisoner.”
“Lies. I do not have him.”
Morgan looked at Baret. “You have proof Rafael has Harwick?”
“He has no proof,” Rafael said disdainfully.
“Lady Harwick can bear witness whether I speak truthfully or—as Rafael claims—that I seek an occasion against him because of pride.”
“Foxworth’s right.” Morgan gestured to his own crew, standing about and growing impatient with the situation. “You heard him. Send for Miss Harwick.”
Levasseur spun around to glare at Morgan. “I have told you, Monsieur Colonel. What need? You have the message she writes. There is argument between me and Foxworth only!”
“You did not wish it so cozy when the guns of the Regale were pointed at your gizzard. Is this then your wish, you French peacock? To be left to Captain Foxworth?”
Baret walked forward. “This whole incident can be settled quickly enough. Call for her. Or shall I fetch her?”
“Eh, no, no, Monsieur,” came the menacing warning. “One step aboard the Venture, and I will order your head to be taken!”
“You can try that now, Monsieur,” Baret said.
Morgan stepped between them. “Listen to me, you young cockerels. The rules of the Brotherhood are laid down and clear enough for us all. Since ye’ll both look me in the face and deny the other’s words, there’ll be a meeting on the beach to decide, with all the captains. We’ll settle this according to the rules of Tortuga!”
Levasseur grew livid, but Baret was satisfied, since it meant Emerald would be present to speak her mind. He was confident she would heartily denounce Rafael, as would Zeddie and Ty, whom he’d learned were also aboard the Venture.
“It is well spoken,” he said, knowing the captains would remember Tortuga and how he had already dueled Rafael for Emerald.
Levasseur must have been thinking the same, for his eyes smoldered. “She will not agree to denounce me,” he insisted.
“Why so? Because you have Karlton with a knife to his throat?”
“My uncle?” Levasseur mocked.
Baret turned to Morgan. “We’ll gather on the beach tomorrow. But until then she does not stay aboard the Venture.”
“And who do you suppose shall keep her if not I? You, Monsieur?” Levasseur taunted.
“No … there is time enough for that. Colonel Morgan shall hold her aboard the Golden Future.”
Morgan raised his bushy brows, and Levasseur stared at him, livid.
“Ah, no! No! Not so,” Levasseur cried.
“Yes, yes,” mocked Baret. “On board Morgan’s ship, and on one condition.” And he looked at Morgan, whose brows inched even higher.
“Conditions, he says!”
Baret’s eyes narrowed with grim calm, and he offered a slight bow. “Conditions, my captain, yes.”
“And? What are they?” growled Morgan. “That you camp on one side of her door, I suppose? And Rafael on the other side?”
“No, that her friend and guardian, Zeddie, come with her, as well as her cousin, Ty Levasseur.”
“Ah, no! Not that. It will not be!” came Levasseur’s furious response.
Morgan looked at Rafael with growing distrust. “So you have one-eyed Zeddie and her cousin also, do you?”
Levasseur swept off his hat, looking defensive and uneasy, as though the wind had turned against him.
“They are aboard of their own will.”
“You are a much-beloved captain, Rafael,” Morgan said. “You seem to attract many to your ship. If they are aboard willingly, then there should be no cause not to send them along as her guards.”
Morgan
turned to one of his captains and with a curt wave gestured toward the Venture. “This drags on and worries me. Jack-man! Send men to the Venture to bring Miss Harwick to my ship. Bring Zeddie and Ty Levasseur as well. If anyone tries to argue, arrest him in the name of the governor of Jamaica!”
Levasseur sauntered to the other side of the deck, and the French pirates gathered to his side. They cast sullen glances toward Baret as they prepared to go over the side to enter their longboat.
“Monsieur Levasseur! You will stay aboard,” Baret ordered, touching his pistol. “Do you think I’m unwise enough to let you leave for the Venture before Emerald is brought here?”
Startled, Levasseur and his officers turned and looked at him.
“Captain Foxworth speaks fairly,” said Morgan. “You will stay aboard.”
Levasseur offered a mocking bow and turned away to the other side of the deck, where he lounged against the rail as Baret watched him.
“Now, look here, Baret,” whispered Morgan through his teeth. “I’m not pleased with any of this, as you can see. A woman among the buccaneers means trouble. An’ I’ve close to over a dozen vessels at the South Cays and six hundred buccaneers. If she chooses you tomorrow, she’s to go aboard your ship and stay there out of sight. Is that clear? Elsewise, ye best go home.”
“I intended to leave her at Port Royal—until Levasseur abducted her. But to return there now is out of the question. Miguel Vasquez is aboard the Regale, and he’s related to the governor of Porto Bello. I’ve planned carefully—I’m getting my father out of the dungeon in Porto Bello, and I’ll either sail under your flag or I’ll go it alone. And Farrow and a few others, like Pierre LaMonte, will join me.”
Morgan scowled and gnawed his lip because the buccaneers who would go with Baret were some of the best among the Brotherhood.
“It’ll do neither of us fair if you break off with Farrow and LaMonte and leave me with the rebellious curmudgeons. Truth is, I need you and your ships. And the truth is, I’m in no bickering mood, but if the girl breeds unrest—”
“She won’t.”
“And how do you expect to see she doesn’t?”
Baret’s mouth showed a brief smile. “By marrying her before we sail.”
Captain Farrow walked up and handed Baret his telescope. He looked toward the sea. “That ship is about three miles away. Looks like trouble. What do you make of her?”
Rafael had also noticed it. He straightened abruptly from the rail and raised his spyglass.
The ship was apparently on its way to the rendezvous.
Baret tensed, his dark eyes narrowing, and he said nothing even when Morgan inquired if he recognized the vessel. He set his elbows on the rail for steadiness and leveled the glass once more, taking a long minute to inspect her before speaking. He scanned the tall gray hull, the carved dragon, the masthead with its chipped red paint and yellow crest. He counted the gun ports visible on one side and looked at the billowing canvas—all sails unfurled. And above—no flag of any country.
Baret’s jaw tightened. He lowered the glass and looked at Morgan and Erik.
“If my guess is as good as Levasseur’s, it’s the Black Dragon.”
“So I thought, m’lord,” said Erik in a low voice.
“Thorpe means trouble,” said Morgan, casting an uneasy glance to sea as Baret passed him the glass.
“I left Thorpe on the coast of Venezuela swarming with Spaniards,” said Baret. “Either the blackguard has uncanny luck or Levasseur returned for him.”
“Thorpe and Levasseur together mean trouble,” said Morgan. “But they’ll either follow me, or I’ll not issue them commissions.”
“Levasseur does not look pleased to see his old sailing partner,” said Baret thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “My question is, why?”
Erik pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Maybe he was telling the truth about not holding Sir Karlton aboard the Venture.”
“So I’m thinking. Which means Karlton may be a prisoner of Thorpe. No wonder he’s not pleased to see the Black Dragon. He’s not only losing Emerald to Morgan’s ship, but if Karlton is aboard the Black Dragon, Levasseur is in a very weakened position since we must make sure Karlton is set free before the meeting tomorrow.”
The Black Dragon. Baret remembered Capt. Lex Thorpe’s promise to find him again and kill him.
“You’re in a pretty pickle, your lordship,” Erik said. “You’ve two of the most dangerous pirates on the Caribbean here, both sworn to have you dangling from their mastheads.”
14
PIRATES RAFAEL LEVASSEUR AND LEX THORPE
Rafael was infuriated. Lex Thorpe’s ill-timed arrival at the rendezvous could jeopardize his plans for Margarita. And now he intended that the uncouth Englishman understand just how inept and accursed his presence was.
As purple ebbed into blackness in the night sky and the surf washed ashore, Rafael stood on the beach some hundred feet from the enclosure made of old sailcloth that sheltered Lex. The man was inside, drinking rum and gambling with a handful of his men.
Rafael’s three officers were gathered about him, trying to soothe his temper and urging him to ignore the matter and proceed with their plans.
Philippe was the first to point out the disadvantages of riling Thorpe. “Is he not an ill-tempered English mongrel?” he asked. “If he turns on you, what then?”
“I will manage his just end. Are you so unwise as to think I can be defeated by this jackal?”
“But my capitaine, is it not so that Thorpe has Harwick aboard the Black Dragon?”
Rafael groaned at his own folly, wishing now he had made arrangements to hold Karlton aboard one of the other French ships.
“And what will you do if he becomes angry and sails away on his own?” continued his lieutenant. “He would torture Harwick and learn where the treasure is. And if so, what will befall Mademoiselle? Your hold on her depends on your control of her father’s fate.”
Rafael was grim. “Wait here. I will speak with him alone. If you come with me, he will seek a quarrel. The quarrel must wait until after Margarita. Then I will deal with Lex as he deserves to be dealt with.”
He brushed his way past his three French fellows, leaving them to watch the shelter, and walked purposefully toward the confrontation.
Capt. Lex Thorpe was sprawled before a table with four of his men seated around him playing cards when Rafael announced himself and sauntered in, in the style of Louis XIV. He tossed back the lace at his wrists and flecked the dust from his burgundy velvet jacket.
Thorpe looked up, took him in over his urn of rum, and leered a wicked smile.
“Och, now, I be deceivin’ meself, gents. D’ye suppose the cuckoldy king of France durst enter me abode?” And he stood and gestured to his men to stand and bow.
But Levasseur did not take their humor for anything less than mockery. His swarthy countenance remained sardonic, and his eyes smoldered.
“So, Monsieur. You did not listen to me. You have disregarded our plans! You have foolishly come to flaunt the Black Dragon before Monsieur Foxworth, knowing Harwick is aboard?”
Thorpe’s men cast dark glances toward their captain to see how he would take the verbal assault. Captain Thorpe flung aside his cards, made from the leaves of a signature tree, and with impatience cursed the French and their ways. He gestured for his men to leave them alone.
Rafael watched them go, careful to not turn his back on Lex. He reminded himself that signing articles with a man he could not trust was like putting a dagger to his own heart.
Thorpe stood angrily gaping at him, reeking of old sweat and rum. He was broad of shoulder and chest and wore a sweat-stained cotton shirt open from neck to waist. He was breeched in leather, and a tangle of red brown curls clustered about his thick neck where veins protruded. His quick-darting eyes sized up Levasseur, and a flash of teeth bared beneath a rat-tailed mustache. His leather bandero lay within easy reach. It housed six pistols.
“So the wench has h
er shark teeth in your bleating gizzard, has she?”
“It is so that you have risked our plans by coming here with Monsieur Karlton. Were we not to rendezvous at Margarita once I had Mademoiselle Emerald? Her presence would have forced Karlton to talk. Now you have blundered! What if Foxworth knows Karl ton is aboard the Black Dragon? What if Demoiselle finds out? She will not come with me but will turn to Foxworth! Then I must duel him.”
Lex sat down again, obviously wobbly on his feet from rum, and sprawled backward, fixing Levasseur with a cold eye. He raised his silver goblet, taken from a Spaniard when he sailed with L’Ollonais, and emptied it.
“Ye is as squawky as a nervous hen. I’s able to make me own choices, and who’s to say I’s to follow the likes of you?”
“It was I, Monsieur, who saved your neck from the guarda costa on the Venezuelan coast.”
“So I owes you, does I? Mebbe, but can I trust ye now, eh?”
“Now you speak as a fool speaks, Monsieur.”
“Mebbe, mebbe not. While I was waitin’, Rafael, ye was takin’ a mite long time coming to the rendezvous. What’s to keep ye from runnin’ off with the wench and the treasure?”
“The treasure, you sodden cockerel, is not within reach of either of us until Karlton or Foxworth tells us where it’s hidden!”
“So it’s by your leave I’s free to move me ship when I wants to heave to—is that what you’re saying, Rafael?”
“We had our plans.”
“Aye, and mebbe I’m thinkin’ it weren’t so good for me. The devil take ye, Levasseur. It’s a wonder I don’t pistol ye now! I figure ye had plans to run off with the wench and the treasure.”
“You’re out of your mind, Monsieur. We need Karlton. And if you think to call me a liar, you shall die for your foolish tongue. There is not a man who can outshoot me, least of all you, as rummed as you are.” He leaned over the table, his hands resting on either side. “Now, Lex, breathe a cool whiff of the Caribbean and calm your fettered soul. You and I are at league. We’ve signed the articles, Monsieur. So why, then, are you here? Why have you put to risk our plans?”
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